


heartquakes & wishbones

by quensty



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 15:24:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8538241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quensty/pseuds/quensty
Summary: She’s in the middle of checking her phone, processing that she only has seven minutes to make it to class, when the whole cart jolts at a sharp turn; she doesn’t even have enough time to pocket her phone, much less try to catch herself, before she’s falling unceremoniously in someone’s lap (who doesn’t smell like a pool, the absurd part of Renee’s mind thinks, but expensive perfume and coconut shampoo).





	

**Author's Note:**

> i think we all needed a bit of happy after the last few days, and what's happier than girls with crushes on girls???? exactly there isn't (which, by the by, was mostly inspired by flybbfly's renison au fic on tumblr that you should check out! it's totally bomb).

But the very worst part of Renee’s schedule are her Tuesdays and Thursdays. Those are the days she leaves her second hour period at promptly 8:15 and catches the 8:45 train south to her college courses. Her first class doesn’t start till ten after nine, but the train always pulls into the station at 9:00AM on the dot; even if Renee sprinted the two blocks between her and school grounds, the math department is still on the far end of campus, and she can only make it that far in four minutes if she takes off her shoes.

She has half-an-hour to make it to a class forty-five minutes away, and the other college students that herd her into tight standing spaces make it even more difficult. In those moments, Renee wishes more than anything that she possessed the same talent of appearing as cold and aloof as Andrew, discouraging everyone from stepping closer than five feet away. Instead Renee is pressed flush against a pole, her heart already pounding from how hard she had to run to slip past the closing doors after getting on the wrong bus, with a complete stranger that smells disturbingly of chlorine pressed up against her side.

She’s in the middle of checking her phone, processing that she only has seven minutes to make it to class, when the whole cart jolts at a sharp turn; she doesn’t even have enough time to pocket her phone, much less try to catch herself, before she’s falling unceremoniously in someone’s lap (who _doesn’t_ smell like a pool, the absurd part of Renee’s mind thinks, but expensive perfume and coconut shampoo).

The fastest camera couldn’t have captured how quickly Renee got back to her feet, hands clutching tight to a handle. When she turns her head to apologize, a sheepish smile already looping around her lips, she’s prepared for a flabbergasted, possibly irritated stranger, and finds someone completely different.

Renee’s smile drops as she says, “Allison,” who is the last person she expected to see.

Allison Reynolds, honor roll student, defensive dealer on the school’s Exy team, daughter of the richest man in the state, and the prettiest girl in school says, “Hello, Renee.”

Renee, who’s always liked how her name sounds in Allison’s mouth, smiles easily. “Hello, I didn’t expect to see you.” _On public transportation,_ she means but doesn’t say. There are circles under Allison’s eyes and a bag tucked under her arm, but Renee asks anyways, “What are you doing here?”

It’s Allison’s turn to stare. “Same as you,” she says, looking at the backpack strung safely around both shoulders. “I didn’t know you took Running Start.”  

“I could say the same. I’ve never seen you here before.”

“This is the first time I don’t drive to campus,” she says, sounding very unhappy about it. As if on cue, the cart shakes again, hard enough that Renee stumbles and Allison has to clutch her books to her chest or risk them flying. The face she makes could make dandelions drop dead. “I can’t imagine how you do it every few days.”

Renee’s laugh isn’t loud, but her body shakes with the force of it. “I guess you get used to it after a while.”

“Bullshit. Of course you don’t.”

“No,” she admits, laughter softening her voice to silk. “You don’t.”

The bus lurches to a stop, people around Renee shuffle as the doors close, and Allison tells her, “I’m getting off on 73rd.”

“Fairway.”

“What time does your first class start?”

Renee sighs. “Four minutes,” and quietly laments the quiz grade she’s going to get because of it. Then her mind suddenly seems to catch up with what Allison said because she blinks, confused. “Why so far from campus?”

“My first class isn’t until eleven.” There’s a pause, a heartbeat of considering silence, and Renee watches as Allison’s eyes – for only a small, flickering moment – drop down to the cross around her neck. “You know, Dan told me about this great new bakery down by the old theatre.”

Another heartbeat. Two. “The one she said had the chocolate filled croissants?”

“Matt said he nearly sobbed when he tasted the brioche.”

“It sounds nice.” After one last hesitant look at the screen of her phone, she stuffs it in her pocket and smiles as honestly as she knows how, allowing herself this. “Would you mind if I tagged along?”  

 _No,_ Allison’s eyes say.

“It’s not like you’ll ever make it to class on time at this point,” is what spills out of her mouth, but she’s smiling.  

No, Renee thinks, she probably wouldn’t.

(She misses her stop at Fairway, shoves her student ID to the bottom of her bag, and continues east.)


End file.
